7th Division Bleach Novels & Stories

"Almost... there..." The door hissed open, but as they stepped into the sterile, fluorescent light of the bunker, they weren't alone. Standing in the center of the room was Seven. She wasn't wearing her mercenary gear anymore. She was dressed in a simple white lab coat with her eyes red from crying. Behind her, a dozen screens displayed the global impact of the Needles. London, New York, Tokyo; all of them were being pierced by the violet pillars. "Seven?" Maya said, her voice trembling. "Did you come here to finish the job?"

After a brief silence, detective Jones broke the silence and asked "what do you think maria?“ “About what?” “This, of course!” detective Jones said increasing his tone. “Calm down partner. Anyways, I think we're dealing with a nasty serial killer that has an obsession with flowers” Maria joked. “It's not just that. But wait, I think am beginning to get the pieces, according to the woman, a white rose represents chastity and purity,now a blood stain on it would mean what? The chastity or purity have been stained and how is that possible?”

"This is a poison. If anyone keeps drinking this for, let's say… eight months to one and a half years, depending on when they started, and depending on the dose given—and the person's immune system—if luck isn't on their side, they won't even remember how to breathe. The person's heart will just... stop. And it will look like a natural brain failure." I gripped the paper. I looked at the list of chemicals. The names were long and complex, but the result was simple. "Wolf’s Bane extract—does it bleach?" I asked. "Nope. It doesn't. Not alone. "But with this…" she pointed at a text on the paper, "…and this mixed together, it bleaches. Or gives the bleach effect. Why do you ask?" "Nothing," I sa

She did not understand why the Chief had said that. A pair of red eyes looked down at her shorter frame. "You will be a part of the Private Bleach case. I assume you have heard of Bleach." Her throat became drier and itchier than it already was. B-Bleach? The Legendary Greatest Swordsman? The Mysterious Werewolf Butcher? Amongst Commonerfolks, Bleach was some kind of twisted hero, a Vigilante that would rid the world of the diseases that were Werewolves.

"You know what, Marcel? I've decided to make peace with you. I won't cause Mom and Dad any more trouble because of this." "Sure," I answered lightly. He continued, "To show you my sincerity, I'd like to give you a gift. Stay right here for a moment. I'll be right back. Don't move around, okay?" I nodded again and stood still, waiting for him, just as he wanted. When I saw Henry enter the small surveillance room connected to the swimming pool, I couldn't help but smile. I knew he wouldn't disappoint me—he was planning to kill me. A few minutes later, he returned empty-handed. I pretended not to know anything, saving him from any questions.

I was locked in. White. The walls were white. The ceiling. The sheets. The room smelled like bleach and something deeper. Like blood. Like antiseptic. Like survival. Then I felt it. My face. Wrapped. Bandaged. As if someone had tried to patch a shattered vase with gauze and hope. My skin itched under the layers, tight and raw. My chest felt wrapped in something stiff. My breathing ragged. What happened? What the hell happened? I squeezed my eyes shut. Willed my mind to rewind. Rewind. Rewind.

I smiled, though it was thin and humorless. "I'm blind, brother," I said. "Not stupid." Alessandro He always said that. Like blindness was just an inconvenience, not a vulnerability. But I knew better. I knew how the wolves circled when they sensed blood in the water. I moved to the bar cart, poured a measure of whiskey, and downed it in one swallow. The Antwerp job… It had to be clean. Fast. Ruthless. No mistakes. No distractions. And yet — here we were.

Of course it couldn't, it was a large one. I'm dressed in my cotton fabric grey sweatshirt and pants with a thick head warmer that was worn over my head, covering and protecting my head that had gone bald. I held my daily journal in my hands, ticking the little dots on each page like I always do. I had washed Ozzy in my bathroom, check. Tick. Chemo, check. Tick. “Rose dear.” My Dad calls up from the kitchen, where I assume he was. “Dad?” I replied as loudly as my voice could carry.

"What do you want to know, Bloom?" I shrugged lightly. "Favourite colour—and movie?" Zac's eyes squinted as he chuckled. He hummed for a moment. "Blue and Pulp Fiction." I nodded slowly. "Why blue?" His head cocked to the side as he looked out ahead at the world sprawled out in front of us. "It reminds me of the ocean." I bit on my bottom lip to stop my smile from stretching miles. I would have never seen it coming—Zac Miller being soft and sentimental. It was endearing.

"Go to Aunt Cleo!" Aqua's heart pounded in her chest as she stumbled towards the door, her legs shaking with fear. She glanced back to see her parents fighting valiantly, their magic clashing with the dark energy of their attackers. Milak's elemental fury and Zara's healing light intertwined in a beautiful yet tragic dance of power and sacrifice. But it wasn't enough. Milak fell first, a blast of dark energy striking him down. Zara's scream of anguish pierced the air as she knelt beside him, her light flickering and fading. The witches closed in, their laughter echoing like a chorus of nightmares.